


But a Scratch

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, hance if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is a brief vignette set after s2ep2. Some things can't be fixed by healing pods.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "some things can't be fixed by healing pods" like, y'kno, lazy writing
> 
> can yall believe my first solo published fic sprang out of spite
> 
> anyway, this isn't supposed to go into great detail, bc (if im not wrong) villanelles* are supposed to be like a snapshot
> 
> EDIT: so I was wrong, (:p) it's called vignette not villanelle ⌒.⌒ this is what happens when u don't double check

 

The blue and yellow paladins slid into the hangar after their success at space-Atlantis.

 

Lance was still riding the wave, so to speak, of giddiness regarding witnessing his childhood ocean dreams come to life, even though that didn't turn out _exactly_ as they hoped. He was almost sure that the brain-shielding squid would leave a bald spot on the back of his head...if not now, then later in life. Eh, he brushed it off. 

 

"Okay, so," Hunk slowed down to match his irregular pace. "I gotta say, most of that one was on you," Hunk said. They were walking toward the medical wing to check on Shiro, who apparently had a glowing flesh wound according to Keith; they would probably meet up with everyone else there.

 

"Well, I mean," Lance grinned smugly. "Just as you'd expect from a handsomely dashing hero such as me. Or wait, what sounds better: handsomely dashing, or dashingly handsome? I need your opinion on this."

 

They entered the medic wing to find that it's mostly empty, save for a cryogenic Shiro. There was no apparent reason for why nobody else was present, but maybe people just liked disappearing somewhere else for no explainable reason. "Hm, you're more dashingly handsome than handsomely dashing I'd think."

 

"Aw, thanks babe!" Lance playfully punched Hunk's arm. 

 

Hunk laughed and returned a solid but friendly thwap to Lance's back. Lance flinched and turned pale for a second. Noticing this, Hunk became worried. "Hey, something's wrong, isn't there?" Lance was about to deny any such accusations but Hunk looked at him straight-on. "You're injured! Why didn't you say so earlier?"

 

"We-e-ell," Lance's voice dragged as he shrugged and pulled his chin to his chest in a show of nonchalance. "It's nothing too serious, nothing a little nap can't fix."

 

"Lance?"

 

Lance looked sheepish. "Oh, Hunk, my man. Hunky-dory. The great Austro-Hunkarian Empire. Nothing gets past you, does it? I knew when I picked a wrestling tag-team partner all those years ago--"

 

"We were placed randomly into the same group."

 

"--that it wasn't just for your good looks and grade-saving engineering skills." Lance said without stopping. "Truly, you are the best man, best of the Garrison--"

 

"Still avoiding the subject, buddy."

 

"Okay, wow rude, let me finish being gay for you maybe?" Lance crossed his arms and pointed his chin up as if being haughty, but he dropped it when he soon figured out that Hunk wasn't letting this one go. "Anyway, 'tis but a scratch." Lance said. "Probably bruises."

 

"Oho! Called it!" Hunk pointed a mock-accusatory finger at him. "The court has noted this confession! I knew it!" Hunk said. "But wait, why were you trying to hide something so minor?"

 

Lance walked over to one of the sunken couches and flopped down, immediately regretting this decision with a short groan. "Honestly? I just don't want to be the injured teammate again." He didn't say: _I just don't want to be the weak or useless teammate again._ "Besides," he added. "I didn't want to make you feel guilty about being mind-swished and bodyslamming me, which, by the way, was impressive." Hunk nodded in understanding, his mouth forming the shape of a small "ohh". Hunk sat on the couch by Lance's feet, and Lance lifted his legs to rest them on Hunk's lap. "Like, no hard feelings obviously, but quiznak, you're a bruiser." Lance said. "That's why you're my tag team wrestling partner, am I right?" 

 

"Yup!" Hunk agreed and extended his hand to pull Lance to a sitting position. "Hug it out?"

 

"C'mere, dude." Lance opened his arms wide for one of Hunk's trademark and patented Super Cuddly and Lifesaving Bear Hugs™. In retrospect, this was not a good idea, as hugging the injured Lance entailed squeezing his bruised back in a lovingly vice-like grip. "Oogh!"

 

Hunk let go. "Oh, shoot! My bad."

 

"I can't believe you've killed me." Lance slithered back down to the couch, the back of his hand dramatically placed on his forehead. "With hugs." They shared a look, and knew what went through the other person's mind.

 

"I JUST DIED IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT!"

 

"IT MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING YOU SAID!" They belted the lyrics to an ancient tune that Hunk's grandma played all the time. Then they went to the next song, and the next, on and on, just to hear the songs again. It was probably ten Earth minutes of pure, wholesome, off-key oldies that nobody in their generation had good reason to know.

 

When they finally settled down, Hunk told Lance, "Hey, maybe you should take that nap and use the healing pod, after all." When Lance raised a small protest, he said, "Just to be safe! You could have concussions, or internal hemorrhage." He slowly pulled Lance back up to his feet. "Come on, up you go. Only a few minutes tops. Might do wonders for the skin."

 

Lance gasped dramatically. "Well, I do say, sir! Is the young gentleman implying something about the integrity of my skincare routine?"

 

"Of course not." Hunk said. "I helped you make it from scratch. I take pride in my work." 

 

Lance placed a hand on his chest and bowed. "And for that, I am eternally grateful. Now scram, will ya, can't let a respectable young man such as myself be seen stripping down and crawling into a medical onesie." He waved him off in the direction of the door.

 

"Dude, Pidge and I were there for the Freshman Gauntlet. Trust me, we've seen most of it." Hunk said. "Alright, you'll probably be out in a few minutes, so I'm gonna go find something to mess with while you're doing that."

 

"Oh! Are ya gonna make me a stim tool again? I dropped the fiddly-thing you gave me when we were floating up."

 

"Sure thing, man. Have fun with your bruises." 

 

Lance waved and watched Hunk turn a corner. After that, he switched his clothes to the medic wing jumpsuit, stacking his armor away and folding the black underclothes neatly like his mother taught him; he hummed a tune from Mötley Crüe, a band from his great-grandfather's inexplicably catchy song collection, and climbed into a pod. 

 

He leaned back as the door closed, singing in his head:

 

" _I'm on my way--just set me free!--Home sweet home..."_


End file.
